


The Cold Is Closing In

by Nevanna



Category: Tortall - Tamora Pierce
Genre: Dysfunctional Relationships, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Mind Control, Missing Scene, Multi, Unrequited Crush
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-26
Updated: 2018-08-26
Packaged: 2019-07-02 18:47:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15802419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nevanna/pseuds/Nevanna
Summary: Geoffrey learns more than he expected when he becomes Alex's squire.





	The Cold Is Closing In

**Author's Note:**

> I feel obligated to apologize for all the similar-looking names in this piece - Geoffrey and Gary and Alex and Alan - even though it was their original author, not I, who chose them.
> 
> The title is from the song "World On Fire" by Sarah McLachlan.

A short time after Geoffrey arrives at the palace, he and the other pages watch Duke Gareth fence with a young man who moves across the practice court with liquid grace. The longer Geoffrey watches, captivated, the more he wishes that he could be that skilled, that confident, that comfortable in his own body.

When one of the other boys identifies Duke Gareth’s opponent, Geoffrey’s eyes widen even further. “He’s only a _squire_?”

Alan of Trebond laughs. “He’d be flattered that you thought otherwise… not that Alex needs to be any _more_ pleased with himself.” But there’s no mistaking the fondness in his voice, and he adds, “If you can stay for a few minutes after our practice, I’ll introduce you.”

\--

“Are you looking for a book?” Geoffrey asks, and immediately wants to kick himself. There are certainly other reasons to enter the library, but not many.

“Yes, but not for myself,” Alex says smoothly. “What are _you_ reading about?” 

“This chapter is about the history of conquest in the Great Southern Desert,” Geoffrey replies. “My family’s land.”

“I think the Bazhir would disagree with you on that point,” Alex remarks, though his tone, like his face, reveals very little. He draws closer, so his breath grazes Geoffrey’s ear; one finger traces a drawing of bold black gates and towers. “I wonder if anyone got close enough to sketch this? Duke Roger says that the corruption of the Black City extends far beyond its borders.”

“I suppose that he would know.” The Duke of Conté has always given the impression of expansive knowledge and wisdom, even to the boys who spend relatively little time with him. “My sister used to tell me that Father would leave me at the mercy of the Nameless Ones if I misbehaved. They were our worst nightmare.” He had believed her threats, too, though as he grew, he had tried his best to shake the notion that his father could command gods and monsters. 

“Everybody has one,” Alex says. “I’ve heard rumors that the Ordeal…” He shakes his head. “Never mind. Roger is waiting for me to return with his book. Until tomorrow, Meron.”

\--

A tall, lavishly dressed figure interrupts the gaggle of squires and pages on their way out of the banquet hall. “You all seem to be in high spirits,” Duke Roger says. The pleasant comment carries a momentary chill, like a draft of winter air from a hastily closed door.

“Alex has just chosen Geoffrey as his squire, Your Grace,” Douglass says, beaming and throwing an arm around his friend.

“That is excellent news indeed,” Roger says, and Geoffrey, drinking in his approval, barely remembers to bow. “Regrettably, it’s Alex whom I must pull away from the festivities.”

Gary of Naxen leans down and whispers something to Alan that contains the words, “on a short leash.”

Roger is still smiling, but his voice is stern. “Don’t give me any ideas,” he says, and Gary turns almost as red as the wine that they were assigned to serve at dinner. “I doubt that your father would be so amused by your impertinence, young Gareth. I shall put it down to the excitement of the evening, and we will say no more about it.” With those words, he leads Alex away, and Geoffrey waits to start feeling warm again.

\--

He floats slowly toward consciousness as he hears voices from the adjoining room. He recognizes both of them.

“My lord, what are you doing?”

“I think that ought to be obvious.”

A gasp; whether of pain or pleasure, it’s impossible to tell. “Please, let me shut the door. If Geoffrey hears us…”

“I shall see to it that he sleeps, and that he forgets. Why do you frown, my pet? The spell is quite painless, and our young friend won’t even know what he’s…”

But then the door closes, and Geoffrey sleeps, and forgets.

\--

As they waited for Alex in the Chapel of the Ordeal, Gary answered a hesitant question about what the past few days had been like: “I’d be surprised if he wasn’t frightened. I certainly was.”

“I suppose that, as knights, we have to learn to conquer our fears,” Geoffrey mused.

“As much we can,” Gary said. “It’s always been hard to tell what’s going on inside Alex’s head, either way.”

After a year in Sir Alexander’s service, Geoffrey has to agree. Thus, he can’t quite tell whether his knight-master is as unimpressed as he is by the beautiful woman who has recently arrived at Court. Lady Delia has enthralled most of his friends, and he keeps waiting to hunger for her attention the way that they do, bracing himself for a blow that never comes.

“No other fine lady has caught your eye, then?” Alan asks as they replace their bows after that day’s archery practice. His cat trotted up as soon as they approached, and winds around his legs.

“Not at the moment,” Geoffrey says truthfully. It’s refreshing to speak with someone who’s equally frustrated about the cloud of infatuation that surrounds the other boys. “I don’t understand where the others find the energy for flirtation and intrigue. Though I suppose that His Highness will have to…” 

“Find a suitable match in order to produce an heir,” Alan snaps out. “I _know_.” The cat lets out a lengthy meow, and Alan scoops him up. “You’re right, Faithful. It’s not Geoffrey’s fault, and I should apologize.”

“Apology accepted,” Geoffrey says. Whatever is happening in Prince Jonathan’s love life is bound to affect his squire, one way or another. “Shall we find another subject to discuss in the future?”

“Gladly,” Alan says with a grin, and they shake hands to seal their deal. “Faithful seems to think that petting the nearest cat is guaranteed to put anyone in a better mood,” he adds, and Geoffrey reaches out to scratch between the velvety black ears.

He never asks whether Alan’s feelings for the Prince go beyond fealty. 

The next time they see each other, Alan is recovering from a broken collarbone that he claims is the result of a training accident. Persistent gossip suggests otherwise, but even when he musters the nerve to ask Alex how he could have injured a friend so seriously, Geoffrey suspects that he’ll never get the answers that he wants.

From the beginning, he’s taken what he could get: a rare smile, the continuous rise and fall of Alex’s voice once he lands upon a topic that interests him, the warmth and pressure of his hands when he corrects Geoffrey’s fencing stance, the promise that they can still trust each other. Perhaps Geoffrey is every bit as deluded as his love-struck friends after all.

\--

The war with Tusaine sends Tortall’s army to Fort Drell under Duke Roger’s command, and the next few months bring their own share of horrors.

Geoffrey outfits Alex with his armor and weapons before each battle. His hands remember what to do, every time, even as his thoughts beseech all the gods he can name: _please let him come back alive, and let him still be himself when he does._

He doesn’t notice when Roger smiles over their heads.

\--

The voices tug him from a fitful sleep:

“Alex, if you’re truly concerned about your precious squire, perhaps you should invite him to join us.”

“What did you say?”

“Surely you’ve realized that he’ll do anything that you ask. It’s very sweet.”

“I don’t want…”

“I _know_ what you want. I always do. You haven’t forgotten that, have you?” 

“…No, my lord.”

“Then _hush_. There’s a good lad.”

The space behind Geoffrey’s eyes glows orange, for just a moment, and his struggle to stay awake is over almost before it begins.

\--

Alex taught Geoffrey to skate two years ago, and when he closes his eyes, he vividly remembers the bright winter sunlight, the firmness of Alex’s arm under his hands as he held on, and the murmured instructions: _Push with one foot, then let the motion carry you forward._ Today, as Geoffrey supports not only his own weight but half of Alan’s – Sacherell holds their friend’s other arm – and their laughter echoes across the frozen pond, he hopes that Alex is watching.

Then the ice gives way and Alan goes under, and nobody is laughing any longer.

“He could have died,” Geoffrey says later, as he lays their cloaks, hats, and gloves in front of the fire to dry.

“Aren’t we always closer to death than we’d like to believe?” Alex asks, staring into the flames.

Geoffrey straightens and stares. “Is that all you have to say?”

“What were you expecting?” Alex sounds puzzled.

“Do you…” The question rises from the cold, dark depths of Geoffrey’s mind, where his most terrifying nightmares have always lived. “Do you know something about this accident that you’re not telling us?”

Alex’s head whips up. “Are you accusing me?”

“Of course not!” Treacherous doubt rises inside Geoffrey like a wave, and he waits for it to subside. “But if something is truly wrong, maybe I can help.”

Alex turns back toward the fire. “If you’re really loyal to me – if you truly _care_ for me – you’ll stop trying to _help_.”

 _He knows._ Geoffrey can’t even bring himself to be surprised. “I serve you by…”

“By panting for my attention like a desperate puppy?” Alex interrupts with a sneer. “Unlikely.”

“As if you don’t still do the same for Duke Roger’s attention,” Geoffrey snaps. In the silence that follows, he claps a hand over his mouth. Never, in all his years of saying the wrong things, has he wished so fervently that he could take back his words. “Alex, I’m so sorry…”

Alex glares at him. “You will address me as ‘sir,’ if you please, squire.” Each word is carved from ice.

“Of course, sir.” Geoffrey is already backing away, toward the door. “Of course. Please, please forgive me.”

He flees for the nearest practice court, hoping to lose himself and his confusion in every fencing drill that he knows, knowing that it won’t work.

\--

“Whether or not I survive the Ordeal…”

“Don’t be silly,” Geoffrey protests as they kick up fallen leaves with every step.

“…we’ll probably see a lot less of each other after that,” Alan continues. “I just wanted to tell you to be careful.”

Alex has thawed somewhat, and in tiny amounts, since their explosive argument earlier in the year, but Geoffrey is still cautious around him, the words “desperate puppy” lingering like a poisoned cut that won’t heal. He senses that there might be another reason for this warning, but understanding hovers just beyond his reach.

\--

Geoffrey bolts from the throne room, unsure of where he’s headed until Gary calls his name.

“I have to find him,” Geoffrey explains helplessly. When Alan – no, _Alanna_ – struck Roger down with her sword, Alex went rigid, swaying on his feet until it seemed like he might faint. When he righted himself, his larger friends had to hold him back from rushing to Roger’s side, and that was the last anybody saw of him in the growing chaos.

“And do what?”

“Whatever he needs,” Geoffrey replies. “That is my duty, for a little while longer.” _And I know what it’s like to love in spite of reason._

Gary looks thoughtful, then asks the question that has surely been lurking in both of their minds since Alanna made her accusations. “Do you think that he was involved in Roger’s plot?”

“I don’t want to believe it.” But suspicions, which feel uncomfortably like buried memories, have already begun to surface in his mind.

“None of us do,” Gary agrees. “I suppose that even if he was, it might not have been of his own free will.” He runs both hands through his thick brown hair. “Either way, it may be impossible to help him now. What a gods-cursed _mess_.”

“It should have been _impossible_ for a girl to become a knight,” Geoffrey points out. _Or for the King’s beloved nephew to be plotting regicide_. “Go and be with your family, Sir Gareth. We’ll figure out how to untangle this mess tomorrow.”

Gary nods. “Good luck.”

Geoffrey follows the steps that he knows so well, up staircases and down corridors, until he reaches the door to Alex’s quarters. He closes his eyes, thinks about all the things that he might say and later regret, and knocks.

After another immeasurably long moment, the door opens.


End file.
